


Dream Dreams to Dream Dreams

by MudaneToil



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dream Sex, Lonesome Road DLC, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, The Divide (Fallout)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaneToil/pseuds/MudaneToil
Summary: "A feeling of home. As I ran into your history,Ulysses, I found, I ugh...I mean, eventually, I found home. The Divide. The storm. 'Twas my way back home.""This history. This road. It's not mine alone. It belongs to couriers. "-When the message reached the courier, he wondered. What's in the Divide? He has walked the Mojave, got wind of the Divide during the journey, still he knew little about its true self. Every passby in his life warned him about it, that the Divide is nothing but a huge hazardous ruin.It cannot be. He thought. Must be something there burried deep beneath, if it's truly a ruin.That message aroused his curiosity and that name attached, Ulysses, as well. Maybe he could take a detour before he extend his end road to Hoover Dam. To see the Divide with his own eyes.So he did, venture to the Divide for answers.
Relationships: Courier/Ulysses (Fallout), Male Courier/Ulysses
Kudos: 3





	Dream Dreams to Dream Dreams

What is in the Divide?

The courier haulted on the edge of the crater. The Divide showed him the whole panorama. The storm is howling relentlessly. It caressed his worn ranger coat, cast some dust and dirt on his shoulders. He can feel it, hear it and taste it. The air is thick like it's mixed with sulfur. As far as his eyes can see, there's no sign of life, only nuclear warheads scattered everywhere across the area. If it wasn't the message he received, he wouldn't take another step further. This place, this land covered all over with wounds, all the devastation and desolation...That message along with the attached name, Ulysses, aroused his curiosity, lured him away from his main road from Mojave to here. A detour before the Dam. Got wind of it, still he knows little about it, needs to see the Divide with his own eyes. He couldn't help but stare at the ruins he's never met before, perhaps just out of gunner's instinct, or perhaps... for the need of memory. To remember no matter what can be seen. The Divide lies ahead, greeted him with a clear thunderclap. 

Would be unwise to roam at this place though. He had a strange feeling, a feeling like deja vu but he cannot tell the why and what of it. He could go back but he knew he won't. The moment he saw that graffiti, he knew he's bound to this detour.

"You can go home, courier."

* * *

Again, the courier asked the question again.

Maybe it is going to be the last time, maybe not. He asked himself. Silently, if not, he would sound weary enough like he's about to be entirely drained.

What is in the Divide?

For what he have seen with his own eyes, there's nothing but death, just like everyone's parlance. Those Marked men, deathclaws, tunnelers and damn beaming robots. Why the hell did he come here to suffer so much just to find someone he never met? Why bother? His feet feel pure sore, the necessities in his satchel had inadvertently become a burden,weighing him down, slowly dragging him to his grave. Blisters blossomed on his feet soles, perhaps they were bleeding, he wasn't sure, since he dived into the sea of pain for too long, his sense drowned in numbness. The courier would have cursed, if he still got strength to, even though he's amongst the dead and no one else around him could hear him, except for ED-E. The road was too long, way too long, stretching from his heels to the far side and then swallowed up by the horizon. The end is no where to be found, and the beginning, the Mojave is drifting away, far, far away.

Eventually, he stopped, at the sight of a blue symbol, through the dusty red goggles. ED-E made a curious beep as the courier stepped closer to the symbol. The courier stared at it, his sight followed its guidance. Strange enough, just doing so, he feels the burden on his shoulders disappeared at the moment. 

Know what it is, surely, for a long time. Could guess who left it, 100% sure, yet he has no clue to prove it. 

The Stars and Stripes, the old world greets him. As though the dying world still holds its last gasp, waiting for someone to dig the ruins, to pan for history through the rubble of a nuclear bomb. Like it's waiting for the rescue teams' relief effort after an earthquake, as it should be. But hundreds of years have passed since the first bomb fell. Newborns crawled through the fallout long before. Everyone has stopped the "relief" and embraced the New World instead. Just like the fall of a meteor wiped out the ancient history and replaced it with a new one. Perhaps, truly, as those believers say, there is death in life and life in death. 

The courier reached out the symbol, to feel only the roughness of the stone slab, the paint has long dried up. Even if he had never met the one who left it, and he knew it was trustworthy. Know not when it was left, only that it represents the advent of a life, that life gave birth to it, then in return, it served as a shelter for that enigmatic life to rest, and now will guide another life's road.

He set up camp on top of a pile of ruins. Literally ruins, it was like a mound of broken walls that had been built up and landed out of place on the highway, and it looked crumbling and unsuitable for shelter. Climbing it was exhausting, but it's the one last toil for today. The only thing that kept it safe was the blue mark at the foot of the hill. If he were still in the Mojave, he would think he was crazy. Or had he gone crazy already? Is that exactly why he follows the signs and sounds? To chase the wind and catch the shadow?

The land is barren. The dome is gloomy. The world is stillborn. Back in Mojave, when the night falls, he used to look up in the sky and meet the stars' eyes. Now he lied down on the coarse bedroll and did the habit thing. The endless storm covers the Divide, seals it and hides all the stars. Merely, through cloud veils, could he peak the beauty of the dim moonlight. The sound of the storm rages in his ears,like the snoring of a sleeping land. It sounded bleak and desperate, but the silence was better than a deathclaw's roar. 

Time seems to come to a stasis. The courier has long lost the track of time. Doesn't have to. Or time itself casted its meaning away in the Divide like the golds blowing in the wind. He laughed dryly, as if to mock himself. Holotape's voice flowed from the old world relic tied to his arm, as he heard it, he closed his eyes. Pip-boy shines like a faint green star in the night.

It's a deep, husky male voice. The speech is slow and phrased like a riddle. It was about his past, or rather about the path of their intertwined history.

Ulysses. The voice of Ulysses.

How... soothing. Just to hear his voice. Though they have never met. Not yet.

He added a few ruined books to the campfire, and the orange flames went up a little higher, swaying and reflecting his figure on the crumbling wall. The courier put his headgear aside, he listened quietly. Back in the Mojave, at this hour he might be chating with companions in high-roller suite at Lucky 38, or in some forgotten corner of the desert, listening to the news, expecting "third-party negotiator" to appear in Mr. New Vegas' line. But now all that is left is the crackle of the campfire, and, the sound of Ulysses' words. For a jiffy time, the wind seemed to have ceased. He felt ...... it all so warm, as warm as a heat in the body left by liquor trailing down his throat. It made him think of the fireplaces in those Old World novels, those of the many holidays people had before the war. Though he didn't know what the Old World people were celebrating, he couldn't remember too many novel details, nor did they matter. Yet what mattered was those words, even if they were lost in history, made him touched. He recalls the good ol' days, where he camp around the fire with his friends. He remembers Zion , he remembers Novac, he remembers 188 Trading Post, he remembers the warmth of the fire ...... Could it be the so-called homesickness? But he has no home. Or a regular place to settle down, Lucky 38 could barely count, maybe, but he always feels an unwarranted sense of constraint every time he returned there to rest his feet. If he were alone, he probably wouldn never sleep in the suite Mr. House offered him, it's large, luxurious but hollow, hard to feel like belonged in that place, especially for a wandering courier. If he's never been home, then where would that sense of belonging come from?

He scratched the back of his head. Knew not why he was thinking about this. Perhaps the night had been too long, way too long. He had stared at the sky for so long still he hadn't seen it dim much, and the stars weren't even spinning a bit for him. But for how long exactly he couldn't say, maybe an hour, maybe a few hours, or maybe just a single minutes. By rights, now he's so bored and so knackered, he would simply close his eyes and welcome The Divide's tomorrow, when a new sun and a new journey awaits him. God knows how much longer he'll have to walk down this road, this highway seems never-ending. Even after the bomb had destroyed most of the bridge, it was still very long and The Courier wondered what it had been like before the war. Take a look at all the car wrecks deserted everywhere. Would the Old World people drive on this endless highway until the sun evaporates at the end of the world? What would the old world have been like? He had been to Big MT and Sierra Madre, those remnants of the Old World, and had heard some ghouls talk about the visages of the Old World. Now he's sleeping on top of the remains of the Old World. That world, destroyed by atomic wraith and burned to ashes by war flames, still shines its afterglow, and the courier was almost fascinated by its history. 

By this point, the tape stoped talking. Silence returned. Ulysses rambled a lot on that one, all about the Old World. Even brought up the courier's memory back in Sierra Madre when he mentioned Christine and the Brotherhood. Like they or maybe everything share a common connection to the Old World. Too much thought on it, and it made him so world-weary.

"Oh, God, ED-E, can you please tell me what time it is, and is it my time for bed? I mean, sing me a lullaby, or just talk to me."

ED-E made a series of beeping, confused then jubilant and then dreamy. Customarily the courier will try to understand what it tends to convey, at least he can always have a sketchy idea of it. But a chat is way too demanding. For that he would blame himself for being an technology idot. Anyway, it's better than nothing.

"I was thinking. Thinking about this place, like, why do I bother? Why did I come here? And I can't find an answer." He blinked before he continues. "I came because of the message, yes, but I don't think that's the reason."

He heard a waver beeping. That's enough for him. Just knowing he's got a little listener. That is enough.

"I find myself with hella questions. This is really, really weird. And now I'm thinking of this Ulysses guy. Did you uh, see him when he's speaking through you? " 

This time beeping was an negative answer. The courier chuckled and then lowered his voice, muttered to himself.

"Ah, I shouldn't be like this, you know, driveling nonsense. I just suddenly, I feel like I need someone talking to me. Am I getting lonely here? "

Last time he had conversation was with Ulysses, though that guy has an attitude and tosses him a great many history lessons that keep baffling him tonight. 

Could use another lesson. To slake the loneliness. 

Here, in the Divide, only two men remain breathing life . Two couriers under the same torn sky. Got no one else to turn to.

Would you be staring at the moon, waiting for a star to show up, just like me, tired as heck but can't let this boresome night go? Or maybe a brand-new sun to merge the East and the West?

Would you be thinking of the Old World and then of another courier, just like me? And smiled dryly lying on the bedroll, suffering insomnia of your own record.

The courier pressed the button. His pip-boy began rambling. And rambling a ton. History lessons.

A tiny curve appeared on his lips. He smiled at the voice. 

Pretty nice voice he got, the Courier thought. It's hoarse and low, as if his vocal cords had been baked by radiation, but in a good way. he spoke so slowly, whether deliberately or by nature, that his already long words were prolonged. But it doesn't matter, the courier doesn't mind keeping the history lesson a little longer. He wants to learn more, both about the old world and him, Ulysses. The tape, through word-of-mouth it tells another courier's history, a history similar to his own. As Ulysses told him during the day, their paths' always overlapping, from Mojave to Zion and then to Big Mt, all leading to here, The Divide. Maybe it's just a coincidence since couriers're always on the road, drifting around, wading through the same places, but he preferred to think it inevitable. God, the more he thinks about it, the more he sounds like that guy, is he going to agree with him? Saying things like "only couriers like us would come here", as if there really is something predestined in this world. Oh come on ...

But there's not much wrong with that, right?

" _Have you ever wanted to speak to history - just to know the why of it?_ " His pip-boy asked him.

" In the old days, no, I never thought about it, who gives a shit about history? I'm just a courier, not one of those guys obsessed over old technology. But now, I'm not sure in my heart, have been thinking about it all night. Well, almost all night, and probably will continue until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open."

"Never slept in a place like this, you know, on the ...... rubble pile of the highway, hoping the deathclaws won't grab me in my dreams, cleave me and eat me up. Or, Marked men, don't know which is worse."

"No idea why I'm talking to myself, maybe the talker in me got bored without someone to talk to for a while. Guess you've been here too, this place where I followed your symbol. Curious, if we are alike. Or why else would you have talked to me so much in Hopeville? Must have so much to say and you couldn't hold it in."

He felt his mouth go dry, pursed his lips, and rummaged through his bag for a bottle of Sunset Sarsparillar, his favorite. Every time he snapped the bottle opener onto the cap, he thought to himself, "Oh, God, please, give me a Blue Star." Although he did not think he would one day find 500 star caps, nor did he believe in God.

-

A tide of warmth flooded in his body, maybe he lied too close to the campfire, the courier adjusted to a more comfortable position, lying flat on the bedroll, hands under the head, yawned. Finally his eyes began to fight. When the brain is tired enough to be down, a dream will catch him, he thought.

All the tapes were finished, no more new history lessons, but he's not contented. He closed his eyes gently, letting his vision draw down the curtain. The night disappeared with the ruins, for now, but not the Divide. It could still be heard, smelled, and even seen. Even though he had only known it for a short time, it was already branded his mind, probably his heart, too.

More than broken skies and land, more than broken bridges and collapsed houses, he saw the symbols of the Old World, one after another, like lighthouses shining. And he was in the darkness, couldn't see anything but the lights and identify the road by the colour. There were crowd voices but he couldn't tell what's said, and there were inhuman noises but he ignored them until he found the last light. A red one, the symbol of the Old World, like an alarm. And then it disappeared, such a flash in the pan. Instead, a flag floated before him, and someone's waving it, waving it so vigorously, even as the flames found it and tore it apart into tattered pieces. The other voices were gone at this moment, as if the invisible flames had consumed them all. 

Only one survivor remained, picking up the flag debris, piecing them together into a new symbol, and then turned away from the Divide. He marched on with it, carrying it on his back. And The courier watched the man's back, walking further and further away in the darkness. The symbol glowed again.

Ulysses.

Not from the myth but sounds like a myth to me.

Wanders like Ulysses. Behave like Ulysses. Talk like Ulysses. No matter unwitting or not.

Car hear grudge in his words, too strong to be unaware of, still claims not to kill couriers for hatred. Even though he witness his home's doom. Too much for an ex-f rumentarius to hold the honor . 

Then would it be ......

Suddenly his lower belly feels so, tense, like something invisible grabbed him tight. It makes him open his eyes and see- Oh,great! He nearly yelled out loud. A tent in his pants. Although it' s not that unusual, no, no no no, it' s not usual! A hard-on in the middle of the night, for someone he'd never met and only heard him speak? He feels ashamed, but also a little thrilled, somehow. Seems like his brain subconsciously despised the physical reaction, while his heart tends to appreciate the crush. Does he love Ulysses? He's not sure, but one certain thing is that he holds not hate against him, even likes him a tad, and his line between admiration and adoration is rather vague. The courier had a story or two of relationships, but all didn't last long, so his heart knows exactly what love is. He loves caps, love them really much, and he loves his companion, but he feels something else for Ulysses, something that he has never felt before. Curiosity for the most part, and the rest he can't explain to himself. Maybe it's just his brain can't explain it? Or maybe he just thought he knew what love was like, while in reality he doesn't? If that was the case, he should have left his brain in Big MT.

Having to deal with this unexpected interlude, he peeked at ED-E in fear of his little action being discovered, and then probed downward to reach the private part. His fingers undo his belt buckle and releasing his annoying sperm. He hadn't touched himself in a long, long time. Afterall, there are always better options to get laid back in Vegas than masturbating on the wasteland. He pinched his hard buddy, it was half awake, half asleep, just like him, lingering between dreams and reality.

What if, supposing, he loves Ulysses? That would give an answer to his ride, and he came in search of love. He felt lonely because of it, longing for a companion on this lonely road, longing for someone to listen to him. Even though he is unsure if Ulysses will love him back, no, he doesn't even know if he'll confess his true heart to Ulysses. What if ...... an answer awaits him as a refusal? Would be frustrating, dejecting, disillusioning, even disheartening. He doesn't know him well enough, that's why he's so willing to listen to those tapes, to care about histories he never bothered before, out of curiosity or love. That love secretly welled up in his heart like a myth.

But only now, and only in his mind, he can dream of a world he loves and loves him, a Divide where only love and hate dwells but no bombs. Pile up a dream with a million what-ifs. Reason can cease to exist for a moment and let emotion raise its high flag on the ruins.

He stroked his dick up and down, eyes closed. As his callous hand moves, fingertips skim over the bulge, provoking bursts of pleasure and joy converges on the shaft , like streams and currents. His chest heaves, lips slightly parted.

Just right crazy as it is, he doesn't even know what his fantasy person looks like, only the voice, oh God, that perfectly sexy voice. A voice that makes him hard and horny at hearing it, stored right in that Old World technology. Ain't it enough? Nothing else would matter. Hm, what if Ulysses found out about it? He wondered. Simply thinking about that makes him feel even better and keener.

Inevitably, he would voice great chunks of thoughts, forging riddles from words, stacking them one on top of another into epistles, sealed in an Old World package and then he'll tumble it into the hands of Courier Six.

He'll say:

"Didn't see that coming. Your affection. Thought you would hate me- or worse, kill me for luring you. To the Divide. Again. Unexpected like bombs."

Hope you can talk to me now, a little more, maybe a thousand times more. Fill my heart with words, plug my ears with histories. If you would, then I won't mind.

"First thought, disgusting. Had no love for such things. Never wanted. Why, me? Dig passion from curiosity. Not likely. Or, have an addiction, drugged by letch? Hm, if so, could turn back, hop to Vegas. Pile new sin, lust, upon the old. "

Criticize me anyway you want, he thought to himself. After all those years of resentment and hatred being vented, all that's left was good- good for the courier. But it doesn't matter whether Ulysses still harbors hate for him or not. A sinner who indirectly destroyed another man's hometown expects no completely forgiveness. He loves him, even though he's not sure if it's a passing fancy on a whim or it's meant to be. He'll loving Ulysses' hatred against him, his anger, his sadness, his pain...... He's willing to taste everything about him. If a nuclear bomb blows up an insurmountable divide between them, then he would be willing to fill the crater with love, not just love for him alone, perhaps along with the love for the whole Divide and the dead old world. All his love. A world built only by love and hate. He won't stand by the crater and stare at the sins of the past, not anymore. But to provide relief, to bring hope, he will carry the history of the Old World back on his shoulders. He will walk once again on the road, in this deserted ruins, as before, to breathe life into another one' s new home. If, as Ulysses said, death will always follow him, Courier Six, then let'em all trail behind him, and he will race against his shadows, towards suns of the east and the west, until highnoon unites two suns into one and gather the sunlight above his head.The Divide will no longer be a nation of the dead, but a new home in the true sense of the word, a home for couriers.

The Ulysses on the tapes always sounds sullen. And the Ulysses who spoke to him through ED-E bears a grudge. He dreamed a rough image in his mind. A man, not too tall, not too short, emblazons the Old World symbol on his back . The courier didn't bother to imagine anything else like a face or other details, as it was unnecessary. Sooner or later they will meet. The Ulysses in his mind was just a shadow, a phantom destined to exist only for this night. He reached out and embraced phantasm, hooking his hands around the other man's neck, not using too much force, as if it's a test for reaction, and gently pillowed his head on the shadow's shoulder. A brief moment later, there comes a sigh in his ear, hot breath on his neck, and then he feels Ulysses' arms tightened around him, likewise without too much force. He sniffed quietly, and Ulysses smells like ...... He didn't know how to describe it. The first adjective that came to his mind was "The-Divide-like"-if that could be considered descriptive. Courier Six will cherish this hug, even if it is merely a figment of his imagination. Still it's a hug that Ulysses is willing to accept from him. Illusory and ethereal as it is and it should be, it makes him feel heartily happy, hence his heart feels warm. Unlike the warmth of campfire or alcohol, but the fireplace, the holiday fireplace of fictions. But he has no idea which holiday it is in, or for what it is made to celebrate.

His thumb rubbed over the glans and it dribbled a few drops of lucide fluid. The mere fancy of Ulysses' every word and deed drove him close to the tipping point, let alone any further fantasy. No, he'll probably never desire that, never dream of Ulysses' mouth or any random part of him. It seemed his subconsciousness deemed sexual intercourse as blasphemy, which would bring the leitmotif of his dream to a screeching halt and screw up the bridge he went through a thousand hardships to build between them. At most, a kiss on the lips of the phantom. A kiss is like a vow, to sign an oath between couriers, unbreakable in the realm of dreams.

Maybe that's what fireplace burns to celebrate? To celebrate the insomniac night filled with meanings, for him alone. The night blurred reality and dreams, in the junction of falsehood and truth he found the meaning of history. Knew why the past existed, knew why the future should exist. That hug brought him warmth, melted out the chill of the night, leaving a lingering heat after their separation. As he gazed at Ulysses' shadow, through the darkness he saw his own past, the paths that had been walked, the paths they walked together. It seems that something is missing, the last piece of the puzzle is lost. The path, they walked side by side, absents. Not expecting physical lust, but he longs to live in an intimate relationship with the other person, like a lover who wants a heartthrob to end his loneliness, but more than all that. A feeling like no other, something that has never been owned before ......

Home.

He knew who he was, there he found home.

Ulysses. Ulysses' Divide.

More precisely, The Divide, which belonged to two couriers, temporarily lived in his heart tonight.

Overjoyed, and he rushed to share answers with "Ulysses" ：

"You said home isn't where one was born into this world, Ulysses, I remember. Your words. Can be a place of mind. A moment where one know who he is."

"The Divide. I once turned back and now walked again. I thought I was here to find you. Halfway on the highway, I stopped by the Crow's Nest, there the night fell and I took a rest."

"Found your words and signs there one more time, they lead me to the shelter on the piled remains. Have you been there? It looked like your history was there, just a tiny fragment hiden in a corner."

"Felt quite a strange feeling tonight. It ain't love. It ain't hate. It ain't sadness. It ain't joy.It ain't desire. It ain't anger. Then what it is? Why is it there in my mind? "

The courier took a deep breath as if he's bout to say something meaningful. Something fateful.

"Home. It is."

Imperturbably he may sounds. Inside his heart beats like thunder. Like it's the forbidden words between the two fool couriers, it shouldn't be said and he just broke their taboo. 

"A feeling of home. As I ran into your history,Ulysses, I found, I ugh...I mean, eventually, I found home. The Divide. The storm. 'Twas my way back home."

"This history. This road. It's not mine alone. It belongs to couriers. "

Words carried its message to Ulysses, lingered around his ears. His pupil shrank for a flash and then rebounded. Like a star at night, blinks only one ephemeral time. He turned his head away. Spoke in his normal tune.

"Your words. There is sentiment in it. Maybe sincerity, more exact to describe. Shouldn't carry them. Can be a burden. For you alone. It will weigh you down. When you walk back to Mojave. "

The courier blinked, yet he responded without any ado, pretty much out of the blue.

"Then I won't walk back. I'll stay with you."

"Doubt that. You will. And you must. " Ulysses paused, clasped his arms, and continued, "Maybe not now. Couriers like us, drift around, and will keep wandering. Know what you drift for, home, the Divide or just a symbol. Why you need answers for."

"Like you wandered for the Divide? Big MT. Heard it on the tape. My answer and question. Here's to you. Ulysses."

He offered his hand to Ulysses, with mouth naturally curving up a friendly arc. The phantom didn't answer him right away and stumbled for a while. When their fingertips touched, Courier Six once again felt the warmth of the fireplace. At that moment he reached his climax, his eyes opened for a brief moment. Still stars didn't show up in the night sky, not even a single dim one to meet his wish. He breathed heavily in exhaustion and found that the campfire had dimmed considerably, but still enough to glow until morning. His brain drowsily drifted into dreams ahead of him, and before he joins the brain to embrace the world of dreams once again, he murmurs:

"Thank you, Ulysses."

* * *

“One more minute, Ulysses.” It feels quite strangest to call his name through ED-E. Their conversation should be over but the courier still wants to extend it. Daytime hangs the sun above his head, stretching his shadow to west.

"Thought you earned enough answers. Crave for more history lessons? Won't help you. Doesn't matter though. Speak. Will hear your words. A little longer. " 

"How uh," The courier tonguetied, pondering his words with great care. He bit his lips, watched ED-E float up and down as if it was Ulysses waiting for his question. Luckily the little eyebot didn't have a screen or a camera or anything like that, he would have been very embarrassed if Ulysses had seen the look on his face.

"How do you live here, I mean, you live here, the Divide, right? "

"Survival. The way of it. Didn't think you would wonder that. Ask yourself. You've already made it this far. Survive Mojave or the Divide. Same simple thing."

It is the answer but not the one he wanted to gain.

"I know. It's your home, isn't it? "

"Was to be my home. Still is. Can't let go of it, just like you can't let Mojave go. "

Pain hides in words, not obvious, but tangible. Perhaps, in the shadow of nihility, sorrow, resentment and extinguished hope still dwells. The Divide, who died in the atomic flames , and you,the vigil of the torn sky, are both scars marked by history.

"How can you be so sure of it? I'm confused or rather at a loss. At some point on this journey, I don't feel homesick. Not anymore." The courier made a short pause, looked away from ED-E, looked around, glanced the ruins of Old World, and then he continued.

"Back at the highway, I had a dream, maybe two, I'm not sure. About The Divide, its past, its future, and..." and you, but Courier Six didn't say it, couldn't say it, and he hoped he would someday. "And many, many more... Have you ever had an experience like mine?"

"In the past, somtimes used to. Early years in Caesar's Legion, the destruction of home and its history. Memories, like a nightmare, haunted me. Blamed myself for destroying it. Too bitter to swallow the guilt. Thought about rid of it. Tried, struggled in vain. Then, accepted. Enough details shared with you. The rest is mine alone to carry. No need for more stories of a long gone tribe. History needs to be carried and must, even if one wants to reject it. It will exist in another way. Did so, no more dreams of the past, not even after seeing the Divide. Not even now. Home, found and gone, again. Can't be destroyed anymore. Accepting history brought home to my history. The Divide proved it, you proved it, too."

The Courier hesitated for a moment, eyes still fixed on ED-E but his mind wandered away, itching to learn about Ulysses, desiring more about the story of his long-deceased tribe. He knew it unnecessary to keep demanding answers for histories unwilling to be shared. He wishes, that Ulysses would forget the history if he could, or the history would let him go, but history needs to be carried, it must be.

"What does it feel like to find home? Is it normal to have tachycardia or some other symptoms?" Some other symptoms like a crush from a courier to another courier.

"Everything. Or maybe, nothing at all. Torment, mainstay, joy, feelings crushing sense. If you mean the Divide, then, like I told you before, seeing it changed me. A home, and a way, new to me. Beyond words, but no need to worry, it will come to you. Keep walking. Walk towards the west sun until it dies. Finding me there, not I hide the answer at the end road."

"Rather, you, walk the road. This road leads you home."

And this road leads me to you.


End file.
